


Giant Green Sharp Man

by ChocolateOrchid, sallysorrell



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Boosh-typical creatures, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Tree, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 05:08:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5484635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocolateOrchid/pseuds/ChocolateOrchid, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sallysorrell/pseuds/sallysorrell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bob Fossil sends the boys on an errand: bring back a Christmas tree for the gift shop.  Vince wants to have a proper conversation, and if it's gotta be with trees, so be it.  Howard told him to pack, and if he didn't bother to bring a blanket, that's his own fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was a chilly Friday morning as Howard Moon - official man of action - slowly trudged towards the front door gate of the Zooniverse. December was now only nine hours old, and Howard had already heard Mariah Carey's "All I Want for Christmas is You" a record twenty-seven times. Now, it wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy a bit of the holiday season, no sir, but, as was Howard’s approach to most of his life, he was traditional. 

A fact Vince tried, unsuccessfully, to exploit. 

“It’s genius, that jumper,” he said, nudging Howard’s arm, “Oughta be  _ right _ up your street.”

“I’m not walking ‘round covered in tinsel, thank you very much.”

“It’s  _ December _ .”

“Yeah, the first.”

Vince followed him into the ocelot enclosure.  Usually, he incorporated tinsel and sequins into his wardrobe near the end of November, and got Howard closer and closer every year.  Last year, the ridiculous jumper made an appearance on the fifteenth of December.  Plenty of time, yet.  

"Beige man!"

This was when Bob Fossil finally found Howard and Vince, after hours of strutting around the Zooniverse calling variations of the term. He had originally shouted "Taupe Man", but "Beige" seemed to work better.

"All right," Vince offered with a smile.

"What do you want, Mr. Fossil?" Howard inquired.

"Yeah, there's no time, I don't know. What do  _ you _ want?" Bob looked frazzled.

"You asked us, first."

"Bainbridge wants someone to go and buy the giant green sharp man,” Fossil made a vague triangle shape with his arms. "You stab him with balls and light him on fire! And your parents dump trash under him!"    
  
“You mean a Christmas tree?” Vince offered. 

“Bainbridge says this place looks as he dumpy as he is virile, and as I know from personal experience, he is a very sensual and passionate man.” Fossil wiggled his eyebrows seductively and stuck his tongue out several times.

He took a key ring from his pocket, and tossed it vaguely toward the space between their shoulders.  Howard leaned over to retrieve it, while Fossil told them to ‘get moving.’

***

Howard was always more or less ready to travel.  He kept several suitcases full of everything he thought he would need to start life over.  Vince wouldn’t take one, instead promising he would pack his own as quickly as possible.  They wanted to leave before it got dark. 

Vince stuffed the passenger seat with pillows and sat folded up with the latest  _ Cheekbone _ magazine over his knee. 

“You will try and keep me awake this time, won’t you?” Howard asked, as he caught sight of Vince leaning back in his seat.

“Daylight turns to Moonlight, and I’m at my best,” Vince reassured, figuring a song lyric was the best way to respond, before actually asking, “How far are we going?”

Howard gave a halfhearted nod at the centre console, where Vince left the map he was supposed to be in charge of.  Vince dragged his gaze slowly over the folded page, looking for the red ‘X’ he expected to find over the destination.  Predictable.

“Alright, Little Man, here’s the plan,” Howard started, “we drive up, find the first tree that isn’t dead, and drive back before anyone knows we’ve gone.”

Vince rolled his eyes.

“Can’t just pick the first tree.  What if it turns out to be evil, with little cheese graters instead of bark?”   
  
“Where do you come up with this?”   
  
“Just go with me, Howard.  We gotta know what its personality is, get a feel for it.”   
  
“First I’m Father Christmas bringing a tree, then I’m David Frost trying to get a story out of him?” Howard smiled inwardly at his pun; it was perfect.   
  
“I’ve known lots of trees growing up in the jungle. Some were scary, but some were my mates.”

“Name me one."   
  
Vince went quiet for a moment. 

“There was Miranda, she was a birch tree that let me tie a tyre swing to one of her many arms.  She was lovely.  But then one day she moved to the Philippines to join a Jai Alai team.  Still get postcards from her and her wife.”

“Where are you going with this?”

Making as much noise as possible, Vince jabbed his finger into the ‘X.’

“Not to  _ Leeds _ .”

Howard rolled his eyes. 

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Well you could’ve picked somewhere closer.”

“Gives us time to talk…” Howard led.

“‘Time to talk?’  What happened to ‘get home as soon as possible?’”

Vince tried to appear disappointed in being forced to just  _ talk  _ to Howard, but failed.

“Yeah,” similarly, Howard failed at furthering his own lie, “I do.”

They knew each other well enough to guess this, but neither made a comment.  Vince enjoyed the thought of a proper conversation with Howard, something that had - in the past - been interrupted by tasks around the zoo, or limited by his attention span.  Howard, meanwhile, hoped to stretch the journey out as long as possible, but remained convinced they could grab the first tree they saw that looked sturdy.  It was time in the van they both wanted. 

And so, they talked. 

***

By the time Howard parked their van into the Christmas-O-Rama Tree lot, it was almost eight in the evening.  The sky had turned dark and the little lights surrounding the trees were desperately flickering to provide any sort of glow.  Howard found it charming; pathetic, but charming.  Of course, he was only barely awake; Vince was fast asleep in the passenger seat, head burrowed in the furry hood of his coat.    
  
It took Howard several attempts to nudge Vince awake, saying his name in various volumes, and then finally tapping on the horn to bring him back to his universe.

"Oi, what?" Vince demanded, spitting fur out his mouth.

"We're here; time to get the tree" Howard fumbled with his keys and other supplies.  Howard had said he’d done his research, but instead just imagined painstakingly compiling information on the climate of the Zooniverse, flora and fauna, as well as ideal height and weight for their tree. However, he hadn’t really gotten around to doing that.  
  
The tree lot contained about six rows of evergreens in all shapes, sizes, and colours. While the light snow gave the trees an extra winter sparkle, it mixed with the rain on the ground, creating a dirty sludge that caked onto Howard and Vince's boots. 

There was a little wooden shack where the proprietor stood, numbly staring out into the distance.

“Hello,” Howard began, hoping his urbane and street-smart charm was projecting, “we’re here for your finest symbol of winter charity”.

“Our what?” Vince smiled, beginning to laugh.

“Yeah, I ain’t got time for your philosophizing, Shakespeare, we close in fifteen minutes” the proprietor narrowed his eyes.

“Your trees, how much?” Howard finally offered, somewhat defeated.

“£15 for the three rows up front, and £20 for any in the back; of course, if you pay £30 upfront I’ll let you stay ‘til after close and I won’t set the trees on you”

“What do we do, Howard?” Vince asked, knowing Howard had all of their money, and there wasn’t much, “We’ll need to look at all of ‘em”.

“No we don’t, we’ll know soon enough…” Howard began, but then he met Vince’s gaze. Vince’s eyes were blue and shiny, and Howard’s mind immediately offered up a poem he had read years prior:

_ How gladly does the spirit leap forth, and suddenly enlarge its sense of being to the full extent of the broad, blue, sunny deep! _

But just as quickly, he snapped out of his reverie, and he knew he could (almost) never say “no” to Vince.  Also, he mentally cursed himself for wondering where  _ that _ came from.

The proprietor accepted Howard’s semi-crumpled ball of £30 in notes and change - and one Atomic Sour Ball that shouldn't have been there - and let them into the lot.  
  
Sure enough, it did take Howard and Vince almost the full fifteen minutes to just look through the cheap trees. Howard broke his promise of trying to find the first tree he saw and was now scrutinizing each one for any signs of fungal disease or tree rot. Vince was posing and running around using pine to branches to make what he called “pinestaches” and pretending he was Howard. They were just about to head into the back tree lots when they heard the iron gates close together, and the proprietor shout into the night:

  
“Right, I’m off.  You’re on your own now! Watch out for the Sitka Spruce!”   
  
Howard and Vince could hear him drive away, neither one knowing what his last statement meant; Howard didn’t understand, Vince didn’t really pay it any attention. They proceeded into the back lot. Larger trees were housed back there, their sprawling branches overlapping one another and blocking out most of their view of the outside world. When he was a child, Vince had always wondered what it looked like inside a Christmas tree, underneath all of the bark and pine needles. He had never really expected to  _ find _ anything, but still the curiosity persisted. Memories of being 8 years old and scrubbing sap out of his and Howard’s hair came flooding back into his mind; it was yucky stuff, but tasted well nice.

Vince was smiling to himself as two long pine tree limbs came from behind and pulled him backwards towards the tree.   
  
“Hey, watch the jacket” Vince said “it was an exclusive.” It hadn’t really phased him that he was communicating with a sentient Christmas tree. But then the tree began patting and playing with Vince’s hair, and he had to draw the line  _ somewhere _ . Vince thrashed around and kicked his boots back into the base of the tree, and the tree finally let him go. Vince ideally did not want to get his outfit wet, but he landed on his hands and knees down on the hard ground with a splash.   
  
“You’re not food” the tree eventually retorted, snaking its limbs back into their roots.   
  
“No, I’m not, sorry” Vince genuinely felt bad that he couldn’t help.   
  
“I’m so hungry; Dennis hasn’t fed us for  _ hours _ ,” the tree groaned.   
  
“Who’s Dennis?”   
  
“He’s the tree lot man, he let you in. What’s your name, then?”    
  
Vince told him, unconcerned that he was now thoroughly engaged in conversation with a tree.   
  
“I’m The Golden Age of Wireless”   
  
“Like the Thomas Dolby album?” Vince began to smile.   
  
“It was 1982,” Golden began, “I was planted in the forest, and a copy of the NME blew into my face. Before it shook off I read the album reviews, and decided I liked the name”   
  
“ _ Europa and the Pirate Twins _ is genius, have you heard it?” Vince knew a music fan when he saw one.   
  
“Do you have any food?” Golden’s mind was still distracted by hunger.

Vince fumbled around in his jacket and retrieved a packet of Double-Nacho Cheese Doritos. He pulled out a crisp and handed one to Golden. A branch soon enveloped Vince’s hand and the crisp was devoured.   


“What are these” Golden asked, crisp bits flying from inside the tree where its mouth presumably was.   
  
“They’re a type of crisps called Doritos”   
  
“What are crisps?”   
  
Vince shrugged his shoulders.

“They’re like a bread, I guess”   
  
“I want more bread. I’m still hungry”   
  
This is when Howard rounded the corner. He looked at the tree in front of Vince, and beamed. Vince always liked when Howard had one of his larger smiles.   
  
“I’ve got to hand it to you, Vince, that is a spectacular evergreen you’ve picked for our tree” Howard motioned towards the tree, and got into “tree lifting” position.   
  
“Excuse  _ you _ ” Golden shouted, shifting towards the new voice “I am  _ not _ an evergreen;  _ I _ am a Sitka Spruce”.

Howard immediately remembered what the proprietor had said before leaving them alone in the dark with supposedly evil trees.

“We need to run, Vince. This isn’t our Christmas tree.”   
  
Golden gasped. 

“You didn’t tell me your boyfriend was  _ made _ of bread!” 

Howard promptly corrected the tree, on only one of these points: Howard Moon was many things to many people, but he was  _ not _ a grain product. Vince couldn’t help but smile at this.

“He’s pale, just like your crisps, therefore he’s bread! And I’m still hungry…”   
  
Golden was instantly upon Howard, long branches surrounding his stomach and upper torso. Another branch snuck around his ankles, and Howard was more or less trapped. Pine needles jabbed at his face and mustache.   
  
“So hungry…” Golden moaned repeatedly, beginning to nibble on Howard’s hair.   
  
“Hey!” Vince shouted “Say Cheese!” 

Vince grabbed the bag of Doritos and plunged his arm inside the tree, right for Golden’s eyes.  

“Aieeeeeeeeeee!” Golden shrieked in cheesey pain, quickly withdrawing his limbs, and setting Howard free. Vince grabbed Howard by the wrist and together they both sprinted away.     
  
“You  _ bastards _ !” they could hear Golden scream in the distance, “ _ now _ how will I read my music reviews?”


	2. Chapter 2

In the end Howard and Vince decided on a bright and perky tree who called itself Sasha. Sasha was not hungry in the slightest - which was a relief for Howard - and knew to respect fashion-forward fluffy parkas - a relief for Vince. However, they didn’t realize that Sasha would be so chatty.   
  
“So where are we going? Is it cute? Is there a snack bar? Okay, here’s what I want: I can do garland but not tinsel, and candy canes but not popcorn.  I don’t like popcorn. Fairy lights are fine, but no orange lights - they’re not flattering, y’know? There must be a healthy mix of sentimental and modern ornaments…”

Vince nodded along, only partially listening, while Howard ignored the garbled noise completely. 

“Shame you didn’t bring Twiglets,” Howard said, as they moved the tree past the gates and out towards the van.

“What?” Vince turned, “Golden coulda just as easily called you a twig.”

Howard shrugged and seriously considered making an argument of this, until Sasha interrupted:   
  
“Ugh, there was no prettier transportation than  _ this _ ?”

“It’s brilliant, this van,” Vince countered, “And you get to sit on top of it, like a throne.  Great views, little splash of rain in case you get thirsty.  You’ll love it.”

Sasha conceded, while Vince threw straps over the top of the van for Howard to reach up and tie.  

As Howard finished tightening the ropes, Vince returned to the nest of pillows and parkas he’d made on the passenger seat.  Howard joined him, sighing with relief and happily noted they only talked to a couple of trees.  Or Vince had talked to them, anyway.    


Howard agreed to chat for awhile, at Vince’s gentle and mostly indifferent urging.  He started with suggestions for the tree’s placement at the zoo, which turned into a history of the Moon family’s Christmas traditions, and eventually became as much of his family history as he remembered and Vince was not present for.    
  
“...Which is why we moved to London in the first place.  That, and the--”

Vince yawned and rolled his shoulders back while Howard glared.

“Are you falling asleep?”

“No,” Vince mumbled, “Just woke up.”

“You  _ what _ ?”

“Come on.  I’m  _ knackered _ .”

“Well how do you think I feel?  You’re meant to be keeping  _ me  _ up.”

Vince turned to peer out his window, fogging the glass up with his breath then drawing a poorly-proportioned face in it.  

“D’you reckon we should stop, then?”

He added half of a cartoon heart to his masterpiece, as Howard turned to look at him.  Howard had never been any good at creating multiple lies, nor weaving them together.  He had to reuse the same from earlier, which Vince was already suspicious of. 

“I wanted to get home before anyone noticed we’d gone.”

“They never notice, when you’re gone.”

Howard sighed, and Vince swooped to complete his heart with hopeful, shaking fingers.  

“Maybe we should,” Howard reluctantly agreed, “Give me the map.”

For a moment, Vince thought about arguing and reading it himself.  But both of them knew this wouldn’t help.  Howard slowed down, glanced at it, and found the next suitable exit.  

“So, there’s a hotel nearby, yeah?”

Howard shook his head and almost stopped himself muttering “no, sir.”  He swore Vince ended questions that way on purpose, so he had something to chuckle at.

“But there’s an air mattress and a foot pump in the back,” Howard said, gesturing vaguely with one shoulder, “That’s everything we need.”

“Get lost.”

Between Vince’s rushed folding of the map, and stains from the leftover salt and Dorito cheese on his fingers, they did. 

The van peeled unceremoniously from the road, and, after several minutes over open dirt, stopped.  Howard immediately took the key from the ignition and got out.  Vince followed him, sliding his pillow along the outside of the door.  He fixed his coat collar, too, and complained quietly about the cold.  

“I don’t think  _ you _ ’ll even fit in there,” Vince said, as Howard pulled the doors open, “Never mind me.”

Howard gave what he thought was a smug grin, and folded the seats down until they were flat.  He reminded Vince that this was a cargo van, after all, and there would be plenty of room for both of them. 

“You don’t mind sleeping on the floor of the hut,” he continued.

“There’s room for a heater in there.”

It took all of ten minutes for Howard to give up on inflating the mattress.  Vince offered to take over, if they could just get back inside and ‘ _ shut the door,  _ Howard, I’m  _ freezing _ .’  

He slammed it.

“Happy?”

“Yeah,” Vince said, “But you did bring a heater, didn’t you?”

“Fire hazard, Little Man.”

“Unbelievable,” he glared at the frosty window.

“Didn’t you bring a blanket?”

Vince shook his head and tightened the strings in the hood of his parka.  He scooted towards the middle of the mattress, where Howard was patting out the first layer of flat sheets, followed by something that looked suspiciously like fur, which Vince  _ had  _ to touch. 

“I told you to pack,” he swatted Vince’s hand away, only after it managed to stroke the fabric. 

They looked each other over for a moment, eyes never quite meeting.  Howard brought three blankets, the perfect amount for someone who was always overprepared.  Now, though, he realised neither of them would be happy if left with one. 

“I  _ did _ pack,” snapped Vince.  His suitcase was filled mainly with clothes - which he pointed out only to irritate Howard (“Why don’t you stack those up and sleep on them, then?”)  But he also brought along a thermos each of tea and hot chocolate, and a bag of sugar-coated and chocolate-dipped biscuits which had since been reduced to crumbs.  And the customary tub of travel sweets.  

Howard accepted the mug of tea as Vince passed it to him.  The remaining biscuits and sweets were spread out on the centre console, which Vince slid closer to, under the pretense of finding one to eat. 

“Alright,” Howard sighed, after he was sure Vince had spent too long settling on his snack, “C’mere.  But if you get any crumbs ‘n my side of the bed--”

“Cheers, Howard.”

Howard peeled back the top two blankets; Vince gave him a comical glare until he moved the final one back, as well.  Societal norms and potential reactions were things he rarely considered when changing clothes - it was a necessity - but he threw in a “don’t touch me” for good measure, as he fumbled between his uniform and a flannel pyjama shirt.  Vince shrugged, reminded Howard how cold he was, and said  _ maybe  _ he would think about changing later. 

It was better beneath three blankets, though.  Almost as nice as the sleeping bags on the floor, with the heater set up between them, Vince thought.  He thought a lot about the time they spent in the hut between shifts.  Too much, probably.  Both time and thought.  He blinked heavily, to draw himself back to the moment. 

“Really,” Howard said flatly, “you’re gonna bring a dozen outfits, and wear the same parka to bed that you’ve been in all day?”

“Try two dozen.”

Three loud “smacks” came from the roof of the van.    
  
“Oi, darlings, you mind quieting it down? I’ve been on my stump all day, and I need my beauty rest…” though Sasha sounded muffled, its point rang clear.

Apologetically, Vince shrugged at Howard.  He did not remember much about tree anatomy, but doubted Sasha could see him through the roof or the windows.  

He unzipped his parka, removed it, and promised Sasha they would both be asleep soon.  Howard watched him, as he snuggled back beneath the blankets, enjoying the top layer of faux fur.  His hands moved over it, as if making snow angels, and distracting Howard to what he considered an embarrassing degree. 

“You alright?” Howard asked, after several minutes of this.  He could not understand Sasha, beyond a low and scratchy sort of whine, but did not want to hear anything else from the roof.

“Jus’ warmin’ my hands up.”

“What, on top of the blanket?  Put them under it, you berk.”

Howard had no chance of noticing Vince’s blush, even if it wasn’t buried beneath snow-burned cheeks and obscured with ten expertly blended shades of makeup.  He just didn’t pay attention to things like that.  To bodies or faces.  But he did to hands. 

Vince’s, he noticed, were crawling beneath the blankets, fingers splayed.  

“Do you just not  _ get  _ cold?” Vince asked, hand hovering over Howard’s chest, “You’re like a radiator.”

“Go to bed,” Howard thought a slight chuckle was appropriate, “I thought you were exhausted.”

“Yeah,” Vince continued, “I am.  I--”

“You weren’t just making things up to get me to pull over, were you?”

“No,” his hand grazed Howard’s shirt, “Of course I wasn’t.”

“Not trying to set up something like this, what you’re doing now?” Howard’s glaring chased Vince’s hand from his chest to his shoulder, where it remained. 

“As if.  Anyway, look at you, only packing the one mattress.”

“We’re  _ in a van _ .”   
  
“You’ll be out in the cold if you don’t patch up your lover’s spat!” Sasha roared, shaking the van slightly with its frustration, “If you don’t think this tree can drive away without you inside you’ve got another thing coming!”

“Sorry,” Vince and Howard said together.  

They leaned against the folded-up seats, while Vince provided a quiet and incomplete interpretation of Sasha’s threats.  Howard shrugged. 

“We made a good choice with that one, though,” Vince said. 

Howard always found himself caught at the word ‘we’ whenever Vince used it.  Vince knew this, and continued. 

“We really should get some sleep, though.”

Again, to the point Howard did not notice - or became willing to ignore - Vince’s hand as it settled decidedly near his heart. 

“A proper Christmas tree in the gift shop,” his voice was youthful and satisfied, “Imagine that!”

Vince was delighted to find - as long as he kept talking in this measured tone - Howard didn’t seem to notice him scooting closer. 

“I might wrap up some of the souvenirs, y’know, and put them ‘round it.  Shirts and pencil toppers in little metallic boxes.”

Slowly, he moved his other arm behind Howard’s neck.     


“Could probably get Mr. Fossil into a Father Christmas suit too, don’t you think?”

“Mmmhmm,” Howard said sleepily. 

Vince tilted his head back, to get a better look at Howard’s.  However messy his hair looked, Vince guessed it was incredibly clean.  Probably washed thoroughly and often enough to strip the shine from it, or something.  Maybe he scrubbed it with sponges and drowned it in cheap shampoo.  Vince tried not to let his mental imaging faculties anywhere near Howard’s shower routines. 

Regardless, his fingers wandered to the outer waves of Howard’s hair, gently stroking to reinforce them.  

“G’night, Howard,” Vince pressed the words into the curls.  He felt Howard sigh, and he laid his head down over Howard’s shoulder.  

Howard was already convinced he’d stepped past the sands of ‘awake’ into the warm waters of ‘dreaming.’   
  
“Night, Little Man.”

He could feel Vince moving, trying and failing at pressing their bodies any closer together.  That meant he’d said it aloud, then.

“Happy Christmas, yeah?” Vince ventured. 

“Yeah,” Howard returned.  Already, plans were forming to make every detail Vince listed into a reality. 

Vince always pushed Howard to be his best, because Vince expected it. 

That tree would be perfect, alright. 

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a tumblr headcanon exchange. Chapter one is mostly ChocolateOrchid, and chapter two is mostly sallysorrell.


End file.
